


Silent Night

by junipersand



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: So is Sam, bad is tired, egg is no more, on the first day of christmas my writing brain gave me, so is ant, so is everybody tbh, so is skeppy, this trainwreck that i'll read at some point
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:28:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28291638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/junipersand/pseuds/junipersand
Summary: The Badlands decided to not celebrate Christmas this year, and Bad gets some well-needed rest. If only the others would stop waking him up every three seconds!Or: The 4 times Bad wants to have peace alone & the 1 time he spends quality time with the Badlands.
Comments: 11
Kudos: 137





	Silent Night

**Author's Note:**

> MERRY CHRISTMAS EVERYBODY! :)
> 
> update: i have been informed that for americans, it is only christmas eve. this is my bad. it's christmas for me, so MERRY CHRISTMAS ANYWAY!!!! (the world doesn't revolve around you, americans!)

Christmas was a day where everybody laid down their weapons and stopped wars for celebration. It was a day where all fights were ceased and faction boundaries were nonexistent. From the rise of the sun until next dawn, there were no sides, no good and evil, just friends celebrated the holidays with each other.

For some more than others, this meant the required preparations were more tedious than usual. Cookies and gingerbread houses must be made, decorations must be set up, hot chocolate must be prepared… but Bad couldn’t find energy to do any of those. Despite snowflakes dancing in the air and melting on his nose, there just wasn’t any part of him that felt the holiday joy. He was certain his allies felt the same, as neither of them showed any interest in L’Manburg’s decorations and Christmas choir. (Quackity running around naked might be the cause, but it was the fact that Ant walked past them without a word that was the point.)

What’s more, is that Bad was alone during Christmas. Ever since they managed to cure Skeppy from the egg, he’d admitted that he preferred to remain in the outskirts, where the main factions’ wars didn’t bother him. This statement includes all holidays, events, and anything related to the others, so it meant that he wouldn’t be visiting his best friend for hot cocoa. Sam was suffering from severe burnt out since the prison’s construction, so he would be recovering in his house for the rest of the month. Ant was away, spending time with Velvet, so he wasn’t here, either.

From his mansion, he could hear L’Manburg’s Christmas spirit from miles away, although most of them were disturbances. Bad was invited to their celebration, but he didn’t respond to the invitation. He didn’t feel the need to intrude on a land that he tried to help destroy. He knew that enemies were pardoned and they would all be friends, but Bad couldn’t bring his conscious to even think about stepping foot on their land.

Now, during the night of Christmas Eve, Bad sat on his mansion’s roof, eyes wandering to the SMP’s lands—now lit up with bright neon colors, with the two main themes being red and green. On normal days, he could see the stars in the night sky; but now, the lights on the ground vastly overshadowed the natural fairies that hung in the dark abyss. Loud, cheerful music blared from L’Manburg and El Rapids, which was broadcasted to the entire world.

Bad laid down on his back and cushioned his neck with his cross arms. He didn’t move his glasses which were falling to the side of his head and instead, choosing to look up at the only comforting light in the sky. The round moon – like a perfect shaped pearl sewn into the night.

He raised his arm, bare hand reaching to something that no one could ever reach. His sleeve slid downwards, revealing another sweater underneath his hoodie. In his mind, he wondered, were his friends alright? Where they all basking under the same moon, thinking of each other? Such a wish was childish yet poetic, and Bad can’t help but hope that wishes would come true.

A smile rose to his face as a trail of silver followed a falling star that night.

  


  


  


Seconds after the sun rose, Bad woke to an obnoxiously loud Christmas Carol. He shot up from his sleep, head darting around as adrenaline coursed through his body, anxious of an attack, but he was faced with an empty room and blaring music outside the mansion. A relieved sigh escaped his lips, and his hyperawareness was replaced by further exhaustion and an incoming migraine. The carol’s volume caused his ears to ache, but he’s faced worse before. He curled up into bed and brought the blankets over his head, determined to get the rest his body needed.

Instead, the carol grew _louder_.

Bad’s eyes snapped open the moment he heard his front door being broken into. He thought Christmas was a season of sharing and forgiving. Why was a Christmas choir breaking into his dang house? Grunting, he pushed himself up and forced himself to stand on his feet. His body weighed tons and his legs moved like lead, but he needed to at least see who the perpetrators are for him to chase in the future. If there was one thing he despised, it was letting the guilty roam free without facing punishment. He opened his door with a vengeance—

Only to see Fundy covered from head to toe in decorative lights, his face frozen as if he hadn’t expected anyone to be home. He was carrying a box in his arms, which were filled to the brim with plastic duck toys.

Fundy stared at him, then to the corridors around him. He then slowly backed away, and broke into a sprint as he ran downstairs to his gang. They were meant to be whispering, but their conversation could be heard clear as crystal.

“I thought you said there’s no one here!” Fundy snipped to their leader of operations.

“There’s not! Look at this place,” Tubbo’s voice answered. “It’s emptier than my childhood memories with my parents. And I don’t even know them.”

“BBH is right upstairs. This was not a good idea.”

“He’s _what_?”

Bad took this as his cue to drag himself downstairs, eye twitching as he witnessed several members from L’Manburg scurry around his mansion, all busy and about with their own tasks. What could they be doing in his home? It better not be griefing, or he’s going to get angry.

“Why are you in my mansion, Tubbo?” Bad demanded, voice lower than usual. He really didn’t have any energy to handle any of this Christmas Spirit that they were showing and shoving into random places in his house. A sign clawed his way to his throat when Jack tripped over air and fell on his face. “Badlands isn’t an open faction.”

Tubbo gawked at him and his hoodie-less appearance, barely recognizing him in the form of a human. Those horns were still on his head, sharp and blood red, but his skin was pale and not midnight dark. The only thing that remained consistent was his voice, but the lack of caution and enthusiasm was evident. But that wasn’t the reason why he was looking at him funny. It was because of something else.

“Where’s Ant, Skeppy and Sam?” Tubbo demanded. “Why isn’t anything decorated? Are you alone during Christmas?”

 _That_ was a way to put his predicament. He doubted anyone he knew would be willing to celebrate it. It was just chance that they decided to storm _his_ mansion and torture his sanity. As far as he knows, Sam and Skeppy were both equally alone, equally enjoying their alone-time in the outskirts. Bad made the dumb move to stay in the SMP’s borders even when he knew it was a death trap.

“I don’t think this year is a good year to celebrate Christmas,” Bad admitted. “We only just recovered from the Egg’s influence—”

“And my dad died!” Fundy supplied not-so helpfully. “Say hi, Ghostbur!” Ghostbur’s head popped up from the floor and waved at him. He then disappeared back to the ground, hopefully _not_ rummaging through his bunker’s supplies. He whipped back to Bad with his hands on his hips. “That’s not an excuse to skip out on the most important day in history!”

Bad didn’t blink. “The Manburg revolution?” he said. “Tommy’s exile? The Mind Control Apocalypse?”

“Yeah, but those aren’t holidays.” Tubbo gave him the deadest stare that Bad’s ever seen him give anybody. He looked like he wouldn’t hesitate to drop an anvil on Bad if he dared say otherwise. “Christmas is a special day where we’re all celebrating it as friends! If you have none, you’re always welcome at L’Manburg!”

“Thanks for the offer, but I don’t think I’ll be attending,” Bad muttered. He sighed when Ramboo tried to climb the burning stake outside his mansion and fail. The half-enderman fell into the pool of water, which caused him to shriek. He turned back to Tubbo. “What are you doing in my mansion, Tubbo?”

Ghostbur emerged from the netherwood floorboards, his body hanging sideways in air as if he were lying down and posing for a photoshoot. Usually, Bad would choke and maybe chuckle at the sight, but with his fatigue and exhaustion, he only glared at the ghost as if he would attempt killing the dead. Would they turn into a ghostlier ghost? One way to find out.

“We wanted to have our present hunt here,” Ghostbur said amiably, without a care for Tubbo’s paling face. “We thought no one was home because it’s so empty. Would you like to go present hunting with us?” He straightened himself, offering Bad a handful of blue dye. “Please. Have some blue. Don’t be so upset!”

Bad didn’t take it. He shook his head, clipping the tip of his nose with his fingers. “Would you please leave?” he groaned exasperatedly. “I need—” He rubbed his eyes, brushing hair from his eyes. “I need all the rest I can get.”

Tubbo tilted his head. “Are you sick?” Ghostbur tilted his head too. He didn’t know what sickness was.

“No,” Bad snapped, almost growling. “Just tired.”

“That’s not very pro-Christmas of you,” Fundy snagged, seizing the opportunity to provoke anybody within his hearing range. “Watch out; the Spirits of Christmas are going to haunt you at night. The four ghostly ladies that show you that Christmas is the one and only season for Capitalism.”

From the yard, Jack screamed _‘geromino!’_ as he jumped from the roof and landed into the pool. The splash he made splattered across the tinted windows.

Bad’s shoulders slumped. If he had to kill someone to get some sleep, he would do it without hesitation. Heck, he would pay to do it. It’s been years since he had innocent blood on his hands, but now seemed like the perfect time to return to his old hobbies. The change in his mood grew more visible, as the three began to grow more uneasy with the atmosphere tensing around them.

“Holy fuck,” Fundy whispered in Tubbo’s ear. This time, they weren’t loud by any chance, but it was his sensitive hearing that let him pick that detail up. “How the hell is he more ominous than usual?”

Something in Bad’s mind snapped.

The next thing the L’manburg citizens knew, they were being thrown out of the mansion, some more physical than the others. Since Ghostbur was a ghost, he couldn’t be touched, so Bad threatened to burn down their Christmas tree if he didn’t leave and promise he didn’t tamper with any of his belongings. Jack and Ramboo didn’t need to be told twice. Tubbo and Fundy ran around, taking all their items with them before leaving.

Bad slammed the front door shut after evicting all the intruders from his house. Groaning to himself, he forced himself up the stairs. By the time he got to his room, he collapsed on the bed, the frame creaking as his weight was thrown onto the mattress. The door wasn’t closed, hanging open as light outside crept in.

He thought that he would finally get some rest. No one in this world had the right mind to come and intrude in the Badlands, even if the borders were technically invalid because of Christmas. Dream was the one that implemented this and nobody knew why. Maybe it’s because he wanted some inside information and needed a legitimate excuse.

He put the thought of Christmas at the back of his head and drifted back to sleep.

  


  


  


… only to be woken up by someone barging through his window. Bad groaned and covered his head with his pillow. Why was everybody suddenly destroying his property of all places?

“HAH! You can’t catch me, Sapnap!” George giggled, storming through his room with loud footsteps. He bolted out from his room door and into the mansion. At this point, Bad wasn’t even going to care. His mind was too foggy, and his body was content with his bed and blanket. He could fix all the damage after he finds the energy to.

Another crash emitted from the other side of the mansion, presumably from Skeppy’s room. This time the footsteps were louder and carried more weight, followed by Sapnap’s battle cry as he lunged for George. Bad ignored this. They didn’t exist as long as he didn’t open his eyes. They were just figments of his imagination.

It was silent, for some time, other than the dull bickering the two had downstairs. Bad’s had worse. He can deal with this. He managed to drift back to a deep sleep before someone deliberately woke him from his sleep. Someone yanked his blankets off, and the other screamed directly next to his ears. Bad jumped in his skin, eyes widening in surprise, but he wasn’t shocked to see the people responsible for his rude awakening. God dang it.

“BAD!” Sapnap shrieked, still going despite him being very awake. “You slept past Christmas Eve! It’s Christmas lunch!”

Bad didn’t push himself up from his bed. Instead, he glanced towards the windows, where the sun was at its peak in the sky and the world was much quieter. Everyone was gathered in one place eating, so there weren’t any shenanigans being done around. Other than these two, of course, but they were always the oddest of the bunch. They don’t exactly play by the rulebook.

Lunch? It didn’t matter. Demons don’t even need to eat. They should know this by now. They spent most of their childhood together and no matter how many times Sapnap tried to force him to eat his fruitcake for him, he has not eaten a single meal or drank a drop of water since he was a child. He is not going to break that streak now not because it’s a proud achievement, but because he wanted to go back to sleep.

Bad pulled up his spare blanket from his side and covered himself. George snatched that too, and it was evident they’re not going to let him have his peace until he entertains them in some shape or form. He groaned, shoving the pillow on his head.

“Bad, come on,” George prodded. “It’s Christmas. You can’t sleep over that.” Sapnap whipped to George with an accusing look. Out of all the people, he was the least qualified person to be judging someone’s character based on their sleep schedule. George glared back at him. “Shut up, Sapnap.”

Sapnap shrugged. “I didn’t say anything.”

“You were going to. I saw it in your face.”

“In my what, George? In my _face_?”

“Yes—”

“Guys,” Bad cut them off with a muffled voice, the pillow still on his face, “please get out of my room. And my house.”

George frowned at him. “Are you going to celebrate Christmas alone?” he asked, as if it were an equation he could never fathom. In his vocabulary, _Christmas_ and _alone_ did not go together. They were the exact opposites of the bunch and should not be seen in a single sentence no matter the circumstances. “Where’s Skeppy? And Sam? And Ant? If you need company, the Dream SMP is always open.”

He wasn’t jabbing him in any form. It was a genuine concern and invitation. Bad almost felt sorry for himself, but his mental and physical health came first before any celebration that involved extensive baking and stress wrapping. Throughout the year, he’s worked to the bone trying to make Badlands an official nation, and only to be plunged into something that came straight out of a Supernatural episode the moment the Badlands was recognized.

Despite all his heartfelt confessions, Bad just wasn’t up for the task – not after the mind disasters he’s been put through, constantly brainwashed and purified, brainwashed and purified, again and again until they finally defeated that egg. His body might have recovered, but his mind didn’t. Even up until now, when he sees something remotely blue or anything that _isn’t_ red, he still gets the urge to destroy them and incinerate them with lava. The egg’s control stretched roots deep, and it would take time for him to retrain his instincts and teach himself good and evil again. Going to a major festival with tons of red as decorations didn’t sound appealing one bit.

“Nope,” Bad declined, turning to lie on his side. “George, I want my blankets back.” He still began to fall asleep anyway, the blankets being as much as an illusion like the universe. He yawned.

“Bad, come on.” Sapnap nudged his side. “Don’t spoil the holiday mood. You make the best gingerbread cookies and killer hot cocoa, too.”

Bad removed the pillow from his face and hugged it instead, his body forming an inverted C. His tail wrapped around his thigh, and he showed no sign of budging. “I don’t feel up to Christmas this year,” Bad drawled. “You guys have fun without me.”

He fell back asleep relatively quickly. His back began to ache, but he wasn’t sure why nor did he have the motivation to figure it out. But rather than soreness and numbness, it was as if someone was poking his back with the tip of a sword. It was ignorable, so Bad slept through it.

Somewhere in his sleep, he felt George tuck him in like a child and left with Sapnap, using the actual door this time.

Hopefully he’ll be able to sleep better now.

  


  


  


Sike.

Bad swears, after all of this is over, he’s going to install an obsidian wall that reaches to height limit around his house. Those dunderheads were really asking for trouble at this point of time. He just wants _one_ —one moment of peace where he can rest without someone waking him up one way or the other. But somehow, trouble just finds its way to him, and he would scream if he had the energy.

This time, he didn’t react to it whatsoever. Not even when Quackity loudly barges into his house, raids his kitchen and runs out screaming Karl and Tommy’s name. Tommy is back from exile? That’s weird. Dream must have let him return during Christmas, but why? Did he want Tommy to have a chance, or was this a chance for him to break the teen further?

Well, not his problem. He’s fine lying in his bed asleep.

They didn’t try to wake him up either, which he was grateful for. Potential damages and repairs were out of his mind for now, and his mind was only focused in his sleep. The ache in his back grew worse, almost uncomfortable and unbearable, but he slept through most of it like a fever dream. It wasn’t foreign, as there wasn’t anything sharp on him or his bed. It felt more natural than an attack, like muscle soreness after a workout.

Whatever. Did Fundy say the four Christmas spirits were going to haunt him? The Past, Present, Future and Himself. That was future Bad’s problem, not his.

  


  


  


It’s Christmas night. Most people would be wide awake after sleeping for an entire day, but Bad was more asleep than ever. He’d barely moved from his position, wrapped up in blankets comfortably.

There were fireworks outside. Christmas carols blared louder than ever. He neon lights that decorated the other factions now glowed brighter than ever, like they were trying to outshine the sun itself. His mansion was the only building that wasn’t lit up, the neon red and green reflecting on his windows. But somehow, Bad managed to sleep through all of this, worse than how George would sleep through every significant event that would leave drastic changes in the world. At the very least, Bad wasn’t ruining anything but his own sleep schedule.

At the door, there was a visitor. A visitor in a blue hoodie holding a plastic bag with carton chocolate milk. Skeppy looked around to see the mansion empty, void of life. He assumed that Bad wasn’t home, as there was a discarded Christmas card from L’Manburg. Bad never turned down an invitation to social gatherings, especially one as important as this.

He winced at the loud noises outside. Since he regained control of his own body and mind, he also gained hypersensitivity to his surroundings. He disliked loud sounds and crowds, and he finally knew how Bad felt whenever he and his friends were screaming around him. Going through hell and back really gave you a new perspective and appreciation for the friends around you.

Ant peeked into the house, following Skeppy. He shook snowflakes from his hair. “I don’t think he’s home,” he said. “It’s too quiet.”

Skeppy snorted. “No dip, Sherlock.” He looked around the mansion. He hadn’t been here in a long time, frowning at the damages that were done only recently. “Yeah, he’s definitely out. If he saw any of these, he would’ve fixed them right away.” He put the plastic bag of cartooned milk on the counter in the kitchen. He turned to Ant. “So, what do you want to do now? Do we wait for Bad and Sam?”

“I don’t think Sam’s going to come,” Ant confessed, setting store bought ginger cookies on the counter by the cartooned milk. They were sold out of gingerbread men and he had to make do. He hoped his friends liked ginger. “Last I saw him, he was pretty out of his usual self. He definitely needs more rest than that.”

“That’s pretty whack,” Skeppy muttered. “In a bad way. I mean, I totally agree that we all made the right decision to skip Christmas this year. We’re not in the best shape. Puffy’s escaped to the oceans somewhere to get some time alone. Should’ve followed her example.”

Ant nodded. “Let’s just wait somewhere.” He looked around the mansion’s living room to see no furniture. “Don’t—”

“We never had the time to refurbish the mansion,” Skeppy interrupted him. “It’s a busy year. Difficult to get IKEA’s make-it-yourself kits when you’re preparing for war all the time.” He sat on the floor, lying down on the netherwood panels. They were naturally warm, which were perfect for cold weather. “We’ll stay here until he comes back. There’s no way he’s going to stay past 11 and get drunk.”

They ended up falling asleep on the floor. The clock ticked to 3am, and there were still no signs of the demon. Ant suggested that they take turns falling asleep, but they both were knocked out cold instead. The mansion was warm because of the woods from hell, and it was the perfect atmosphere for a nap.

By the time they woke up, it was early morning. There was still no sign of Bad. The cartooned milk and ginger cookies laid untouched in their plastic bags. Did Bad really end up staying over at L’Manburg, but why? Why would he stay at some place that was their enemy? Once Christmas was over, their hostility would return. Bad was risking his life by staying in enemy land overnight.

A pang of guilt struck Skeppy. Bad could very well be facing danger right now. The only reason he would have gone there was because there was no one here to keep him company. Bad’s a social butterfly, but he was also secluded and reserved. If one person was here to spend Christmas with him, he wouldn’t be there in L’Manburg, the land that exiled teenagers and traumatized 14-year-old salmon-fox hybrids. The land that they tried to help destroy.

Why wasn’t he here when Bad needed him? Why was he so selfish to stay in his own place when it was literally the season of gatherings and forgiving? What was he _thinking_?

“I have to go find Bad,” Skeppy blurted, shooting to Antfrost. Antfrost was wide awake, but his eyes further widened at his sudden statement. “Christmas is over—the peace treaty too, and—”

A scream erupted upstairs just as Skeppy tried to finish his sentence. He and Ant whipped towards the scream like startled chickens, freezing at the familiar voice. No. It couldn’t be. No hecking way. Could it be…

Could it be that the person they’ve been waiting for, the man that didn’t show up for the entire night, was in the dang house the entire _time_?

Snapping out of their stupor, they raced upstairs and bolted towards Bad’s room. His safety came first. But as they arrived at the open door, wary of any danger, they were met dumbstruck with the demon standing in front of the glass, sporting two wings on his back, its size parallel to the door itself.

Skeppy and Ant stared, gaping at him.

From the glass’s reflection, Bad noticed their presences and swiveled towards them. “Skeppy? Ant?” he shrieked. Their sensitive ears hurt. “What are you doing here? It’s so early in the morning!”

Ant stretched his limbs. His joints cracked. He gave Bad a thumbs up. “We fell asleep downstairs.” He whistled at the wings; similar to a bird’s and its feathers blacker than night, with emerald flecks doting each feather like an intricate pattern. “Nice wings. Did you buy them from Amazon?”

Bad spluttered. “I don’t know!” he snapped. “I went to sleep and I woke up with _these_!” He began to freak out. “I’m a demon! Demons don’t grow wings out of nowhere!”

“Sleep?” Skeppy demanded. “How long did you sleep, Bad?”

“Since Christmas Eve,” Bad said. “But that’s besides the point. I have something akin to a piece that’s supposed to be in a KFC bucket, and I don’t even know how to use them or get around without running into door frames because they’re too narrow. I tried walking out, and it didn’t work.”

Skeppy instinctively glanced at the doorframe. There were cracks on each side, as if there were pressure applied to them specifically. He turned back to his friend, holding a fist up to his mouth and swallowing his laughter. Being mind controlled by an egg really caused you to mature. “You can ask Philza,” he suggested. “He has wings.”

“That’s because he’s an _angel_ ,” Bad huffed. “We’re not the same.”

“Those wings look the same to me,” Ant supplied.

“No, they don’t,” Bad argued back. “Not even remotely close. They’re not even the same size. Wait, no, size doesn’t matter, but—”

Someone pounded the wall behind them. They whirled around simultaneously to see Sam walking through the door with a cheap store-bought gingerbread house in a plastic film. “Merry belated Christmas!” he cheered. “Am I too late?” He scanned the surroundings and took note of two foreign objects on his leader’s back. He clicked his tongue. “Did you get a haircut?”

Bad groaned.

“We can talk about this later,” Skeppy said. “Since we’re all here – does anyone want some chocolate milk?”

“I have ginger cookies,” Ant offered.

Sam held up the lame gingerbread house wrapped in film. “And I have this monstrosity,” he presented. “This was the last one from 7-11. I don’t even know how I managed to get it in an hour.”

“And I have this mansion,” Bad added. “But it’s probably in shambles. I heard a bunch of people raiding it.”

Skeppy put a hand on his shoulder. “We can fix it while we’re eating.” He turned to the others. “How does gingerbread and chocolate milk for breakfast sound?”

The Badlands ensemble laughed and dispersed downstairs for an impromptu—and a very unhealthy—breakfast. Ant and Bad repaired the walls whilst Sam repaired the mechanics for the bunker. Skeppy walked around, holding a half-eaten gingerbread house wall in his hand, poking fun of his friends and dodge whenever they throw something at him.

Bad did trip multiple times because of his wings, and his friends manage to catch him. This new growth didn’t hinder their friendship in any way. It even improved it, perhaps, as they were all curious to see what he could do with them. They all broke into laughter when Skeppy scared Bad and was promptly knocked over by his wings snapping open like a spring.

The Badlands may not have celebrated Christmas, but they were not the slightest bit bothered as long as they had each other.

  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


Update three weeks later. Bad has still not gotten the hang of his wings, no matter how many times Skeppy pushes him off cliffs and roofs. Bad has resorted to asking Philza, who is surprised but gladly teaches him how to fly.

Update four weeks later. Bad is terrified of heights.

**Author's Note:**

> BAD WENT THROUGH METAMORPHOSIS **I SWEAR TO GOD** \--


End file.
